


A Very SHIELD Christmas

by Kirstein_and_Arlert



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Christmas, Drinking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:42:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirstein_and_Arlert/pseuds/Kirstein_and_Arlert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve at the Playground, and a lot of things are stirring. Not a lot of them are happy, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very SHIELD Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt ‘Christmas’ on my fc_smorgasbord table.

“I feel like we should stop this,” is the first thing that Mack hears when he leaves the garage. Coulson and May are standing at the top of the stairs, watching whatever’s happening in the small room with twin expressions which are half apprehensive and half interested.

 

“I want to see what happens,” May replies, taking a sip of a brightly coloured drink. She smiles, and Mack can tell that there’s trouble coming just from that.

 

“If we have to repair or replace anything, it’s coming out of your way.”

 

“You don’t pay any of us.”

 

Mack slips past them into the room that’s been accosted for whatever the hell’s going on.

 

 

 

Bobbi and Lance are drunk. Mack’s known them long enough that he can spot the signs from twenty feet – and twenty feet is as close as he intends to get. He’s been around them when they’ve been drunk and celebrating before and, as fun as it was, he’s not in a hurry to repeat the experience.

 

“Shots! Cocktails! Drinks I can’t legally provide you with!” Lance shouts, louder than he has to, as he hands two cocktails to Fitz and Jemma, both of whom take them like they’re afraid the drinks are going to explode. “All in celebration of SHIELD’s first annual Christmas party!”

 

He isn’t surprised that they’re drunk, either, because they have to be the ones who set this thing up. ‘This’ being a hastily arranged Christmas party with brightly coloured tinsel through over ever raised surface, shiny hanging decorations attacked to roofs and beams, and a huge range of alcohol that Mack knows hasn’t been brought in any way that Coulson or May could have found it. Simmons wouldn’t sneak in any of this, Fitz would have had to have left the room for longer than the time it takes him to go to the bathroom, and Skye hasn’t been in the celebrating mood since Trip – since what happened.

 

“Hey, Mack, do you want a shot?” Bobbi asks, holding up a shot glass. It’s filled to the brim with something bright red and toxic looking. Lance is still pouring, and Mack can see most of the colours of rainbow on the table behind them. There are also other shots, cocktails, and unidentifiable drinks that Mack’s certain aren’t legal in most parts of the world. “They’re really nice.”

 

“I’m sure they are,” Mack says, making sure that he stays out of her reach as he passes the table. He almost gets caught by Lance, who turns with another drink, but gets distracted when Bobbi grabs his ass.

 

If they’ve reached the groping in public stage already, this is going to be a very interesting night. Probably traumatic as well, but interesting all the same.

 

 

 

Mack checks his watch, just to make sure that he hasn’t lost an hour somewhere and, no, Bobbi and Lance have made it to the groping, grinding phase that makes everyone in the vicinity want to get as far away from them as possible.

 

Bobbi’s half straddling Lance, and every single move the two of them make gives Mack way too much information about their sex life.

 

Simmons mutters something that sounds like, “Oh, God,” and gulps down half of her drink, obviously trying not to look at Bobbi and Lance, who seem more than happy to make out in public. She coughs and splutters.

 

Fitz stares at them in something between fascination and horror, slowly edging away.

 

“Come on, Fitz,” Bobbi grins when she sees his expression. “We’ll kiss your under the mistletoe.”

 

“ _We_?” Fitz asks. “How would that even work?” He takes a hasty step backwards as they start to untangle themselves, Bobbi licking her lips. “I wasn’t asking for a demonstration!”

 

 

 

 

Fitz must see an escape route in him, because the next thing Mack knows, Fitz is right beside him, looking over his shoulder like he’s worried that Bobbi and Lance are going to follow him. There’s not much chance of that. If Mack knows them – and, boy, does he know them – someone is going to walk in on them having sex about sex feet away from where they’ve claimed some seats.

 

 

 

“They’re having fun upstairs,” May says, and Skye jumps. “It’s a party.”

 

“I know.” She’s been hearing Christmas music for the last couple of hours, and people singing along to it badly, but she doesn’t think that she wants to investigate. Trip’s dead. She saw him crumble to nothing, and Skye doesn’t want to celebrate anything, because she keeps thinking that Trip should be here. “He should be here, though. He’d probably like it.”

 

May doesn’t say anything, she just sits down beside her. She doesn’t notice Coulson until he puts three glasses of brightly coloured drinks in front of them. Skye almost laughs, because they look like they’ll kill them if they drink them.

 

“I always wanted this, you know? A family, celebrations, friends. Now I have it and… my dad kills people, my mom’s been dead for a long time, my friend just died, and I don’t want it anymore.” Skye wipes her eyes, but they keep stinging. “I don’t want _this_ if it’s going to hurt so much.”

 

Neither of them tries to tell her that it’s worth it, or it won’t always hurt. May just pushes one of the glasses across the table to her.

 

 

 

“Fun day?” Fitz asks after he gets through with his drink, something with very little alcohol in it. It’s a pale, pastel orange, and was given to him by one of the Koenigs – apparently Bobbi and Lance had given them waiter duties in exchange for letting them try every new drink first, or so one of them had told Mack.

 

“I was working on Lola. It was a brilliant day. What did you do?”

 

Fitz hesitates, but slowly holds out his hand to show something clutched in his palm. As unclenches his fist, it begins to glow softly.

 

“It’s a light,” he says. “It’s charged by body heat. It was… It was Trip’s idea. He didn’t want us to risk batteries running out or a torch breaking.”

 

Mack watches as the light rises into the air, illuminating the corridor and the stairs to their left. It’s beautiful. Otherworldly.

 

“I think he’d be pleased with it,” he says, and finishes his drink with one gulp. It burns on the way down. He absolutely doesn’t think about how Trip will never get to use Fitz’s new torch, despite being the one who inspired him to create it. He doesn’t think about how Trip will never suggest anything again, or bring his grandfather’s old belongings to them to help with a mission.

 

 

 

After a while, Mack agrees to accompany Fitz back to his room for a bottle of water and some much needed aspirin. If he hears Fairytale of New York again, he’s going to strangle someone.

 

The Koenigs are mixing the drinks now. Bobbi and Lance are… doing something that scares the hell out of Mack.

 

“Drink, drink,” Bobbi and Lance urge in terrifying unison, clapping and cheering when Simmons finishes the beer bong full of – well, whatever it is, it definitely isn’t beer.

 

Mack shakes his head, nudging Fitz along the corridor before they can try to drag them into it.

 

“I’ve never done this before,” he hears Simmons say. “What does that one taste like? The blue one?”

 

_Oh, God, this is going to end badly._

 

They pass by a room with a pile of empty glasses on the table in the middle, and a pack of playing cards scattered across the table and floors, before they finally make it to Fitz’s room.

 

 

 

It’s the early hours of the morning when Mack makes his way back across the Playground to the quarters he had claimed when he had arrived. The Christmas music is still playing, but it’s quieter now, and he can see Simmons asleep on the floor.

 

“Izzy Hartley,” he hears Lance say, his words slightly slurred, and Mack realises with a sinking feeling that he definitely isn’t as drunk as he seemed earlier. “Idaho. Why do all our friends die?”

 

“Not Mack,” Bobbi joins in, sniffling. She’s sitting against the wall, a half full glass abandoned by her side. She leans back. “Mack’s still here. Triplett isn’t. I don’t know if London or Twitchy got out. Or Bangs. Or Fortune. Or Masters. Or _anyone_. If they did survive, nobody would tell us, and if they didn’t, nobody would tell us. Clint and Nat might still think I was selling SHIELD’s secrets.”

 

Lance leans against her shoulder, letting her rest her head against his. “If they still believe that then they’ll wish HYDRA had got them when I’m done with them.”

 

Bobbi laughs quietly, the sound trailing off as she crawls across the floor to lie down beside Simmons. Lance joins her a moment later, throwing blankets over them and pulling one over himself.

 

Mack creeps across the hall towards his quarters.

 

Fitz’s light is still hovering near the stairs to Mack’s quarters. He brushes his fingers across it and it glows brighter for a few seconds. It really is beautiful.

 

A lot of their friends are dead. But they’re still alive.


End file.
